


Exquisite Agony

by TheCrimsonRanger



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Blood, F/F, Gore, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Manon is ticked hold onto your hats, malide - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrimsonRanger/pseuds/TheCrimsonRanger
Summary: Based on the Throne of Glass series, focuses on Manon Blackbeak in a situation where Elide Lochan has been taken captive by witch-hunters due to her heritage. After tracking down a member of their group, Manon, not one to idle while her lover is in danger, gets down to business.





	1. Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> This one really emphasizes Manon's capacity for violence. I don't regret writing it, and I'm still refusing to let go of Malide even after Empire of Storms. Anyways, if you like this, let me know! Feedback is always appreciated.

"Having a pleasant time?" Hadrian jerked, whirling to face whoever had spoken.

His lip curled when he saw her. A beautiful woman. A pretty face - no more and no less. Clothed in tight leather he should have recognized, but never did. He raised his dagger, stepping toward where she stood by the treeline. "Get the hell out of here, woman." He barked. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into out here."

She tilted her head back slightly, scanning him. Her burnt-gold eyes reflected the light of the moon. He couldn't read them. And she wasn't smiling.

Manon Blackbeak, the last Crochan Queen, bearer of the mighty blade Wind-Cleaver, leader of the Thirteen - though he didn't know who she was - said nothing. Just stepped forward and slowly cocked her head toward the dagger. A challenge.

"Bitch," Hadrian snarled, and rushed forward.

A second later, his dagger was knocked from his hand, and Hadrian cried out as the side of his face was ground into the bark of a nearby tree. His eyes watered as splinters caught in his skin. His arms latched onto hers as she pressed harder, trying to yank her away, but he might as well be trying to move steel. She stared at him, watched his frustration grow when he realized she was far, far stronger than he was.

"Where is Elide." Manon said in a carefully soft voice.

"Like hell I'll tell you!" Hadrian spat, then groaned when she peeled his face from the tree, then slammed it back, even harder this time. His jaw shrieked with pain, and something jabbed into his eye.

Manon leaned close to his ear and whispered, "In your stories, witches kill because we can. And when we kill for boredom, the things we do are beautifully wicked. I do not think you wish to find out what I am capable of now that I have a personal score to settle, mortal."

"Go to hell." Hadrian grunted, shifting his body against the tree, trying to push away.

He saw her smile. No - not smile. This couldn't be a smile. Manon bared her teeth, and his legs went weak when he saw the razor-sharp iron teeth, dull in the moonlight. "Talk. While you're still capable of it."

Panting now, Hadrian was determined not to scream at the pain in his face, and the fear of this woman - this witch, whom he and his comrades had been hunting. Now she was the hunter, and he was the prey. He couldn't reach his dagger, didn't have any other weapons within quick reach of his hands.

But...she wanted to know the location of the girl with red blood but a witch's soul. Had sought him out. She wouldn't kill him unless she got what she wanted. He had to resist until his comrades found him.

"Go. To. Hell." Hadrian snarled.

Without missing a beat, Manon spun him so that he faced her, found his right hand, and tore a finger off in a smooth, powerful twist. Hadrian _screamed_ , tears leaking from his eyes, feeling the blood gush from the severed digit.

Manon's silver-white hair, like freshly fallen snow, fell into her face as she paused, just for a moment, breathing in deep. Smelling the blood pouring from his hand. Her eyes practically glowed with a dangerous thrill.

And she still wasn't smiling.

Another sickening, crunching rip, and Hadrian screamed through clenched teeth, writhing desperately in her grip. The world heaved beneath his feet, and his skin went prickly and cold. Spots of light danced before his eyes.

"Stop." He pleaded. Manon ignored him.

Another. "Please!" Hadrian begged, kicking out at her. She shifted slightly, but didn't let him go. "PLEASE! I'll tell you where the girl is!"

Another.

Another.

His right hand was a mangled, broken stump, spurting blood onto the grass. He kept screaming. Screaming for her to stop. Screaming the location of his camp, screaming for gods that did not - could not - help him. Not now. And not against her.

Manon had gotten what she'd wanted. She could go to her Elide now, and help her tear apart anyone who had so much as laid a hand on her.

And yet Manon stayed. She watched him for a moment, watched him weep and curl in in himself, and was reminded of how weak humans were. How quickly their arrogance and unfailing sense of superiority turned to terror in the face of something like her.

Every witch-hunter was the same. They thought themselves strong and righteous until they came face to face with their quarry. And then...oh, how she delighted in watching them tremble like the pathetic worms they were.

"You deserve the most exquisite agony," she murmured, and as Hadrian's vision faded to darkness, as his head spun and everything sounded too far away, too foggy, Manon licked his blood, fear-scent and all, from her iron nails.


	2. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manon and Elide reunite - and it goes about exactly as expected.

The witch-hunters had needed to force a gag into Elide's mouth to stop her from screaming.

When one of the men had pried her mouth open so another could tie the filthy rag at her jaw, she bit down on his fingers as hard as she could. The slap she received in kind made her head snap back from the force of it, and her eye throbbed.

Manon would have been proud if she'd seen how she'd knelt there with her hands tied to a sturdy pole, blood that wasn't her own slipping down her chin, head held high even though she was panting for breath. Then again, Manon would also have snapped the spine of the man who'd hit her.

Her jaw ached from the tightness of the gag, but she knew better than to show her discomfort. They'd take advantage of it. The best she could do now was watch them - get a feel for how they worked, make note of details. And she couldn't do that if she made a nuisance of herself.

Every few minutes, a thought flashed in her mind. What would Manon do?

Manon was an immortal, possessing inhuman strength. Not to mention, she also had centuries' worth of combat training. And deadly iron nails and teeth. How unfair was it that Elide was stuck, tied to this post for her heritage, when she inherited absolutely none of the qualities that would have been helpful in a situation like this?

Witchling, Manon had called her - and Elide knew that the first time, it was so that if Vernon hurt her, the Wing Leader would have a good enough reason to slice him into tiny little pieces and feed him to Abraxos. Her uncle had tested Manon's delicate temper since day one, she knew.

But now, it was far more than that. Elide had truly become her kin, and Manon would go to any lengths necessary to defend her.

It was a comforting thought, but she hated feeling helpless, even though she was good at playing the part. Right now, without Manon, Elide felt very, very alone. A too-familiar feeling. She'd let herself get used to the Ironteeth witch being a solid, unwavering presence.

Manon had made Elide realize her strengths. The witch had known from the start that she was cunning and resourceful.

Together, one day, perhaps they would make the world itself bleed. She would not be restrained again - would not be held back or locked up. Anneith damn her if she had to spend any more of her miserable life held captive by brutish men.

For now, there was nothing she could do. It had been two days since she'd been taken prisoner, and there was no sign of Manon.

What were they waiting for? They had her tied up, why weren't they taking action?

With careful work, some much appreciated luck, and her own skills, Elide figured out why. Some of the witch-hunters had seen her red blood and doubted the sources that had informed them that she had witches in her family tree.

She'd inadvertently given the rest of them enough ammunition to fire back with when she bit the hand of one of their men. To make matters worse, she was wearing flying leathers, identical to the ones the Ironteeth witches wore. It wasn't much of a debate.

Then, Elide heard one of them say that they would put an end to the affair tonight, once the sun set.

She couldn't see the sun, but from the shadows on the ground outside the tent they kept her in, she had very little time.

Manon still wasn't here. Her heart raced, but she kept her expression perfectly neutral. Would she have to find a way to escape this situation by herself? There was no way she'd be able to handle all of them. As much as she hated admitting it to herself, determined as she was, she needed Manon. She couldn't do this by herself.

Elide couldn't stop herself from tearing up. She needed Manon. Needed her so badly that it hurt. She had to stay alive - had to fight.

Manon had only just learned how to love. Elide had finally done it, had finally found someone she trusted, and unless she did something - now - they'd be torn apart. If Elide were killed...

What if Manon was hurt?

Elide's blood seemed to go still, and a lump formed in her throat. It had been two days. Manon would have found her by now, wouldn't she? What if the witch-hunters had done something to Manon? What if she was dead?

That thought was still in her mind when dusk fell, and two men came to take her from the pole and drag her out into the center of the camp.

Elide thrashed and railed against them - she'd put on a bit of muscle, but it still made little impact on the hunters. She'd done this before, once, when Vernon sent his dogs to fetch her from the cell. And just like last time, she couldn't help the tears that leaked down her face.

But something was different this time. She wouldn't plead. Her body was taut and stiff, coiled up and refusing to go down without a fight.

This time, Elide wasn't desperate.

She was furious.

Furious that she'd been taken from the love of her life. Furious that these people hated witches so deeply. She didn't deserve this - didn't deserve any of this. And neither did Manon. Manon had spent her life soaked in blood and death, groomed to be a perfect obedient weapon, and Elide had wanted to give her a chance to put all that aside, if only for a little while.

While men like these witch-hunters existed, while men like Vernon still stalked in hidden, shadowed places, while tyrants still ruled as Kings with jewel-studded crowns to mark every kingdom conquered, the last Crochan Queen and the rightful Lady of Perranth would never know peace.

Just as she was roughly forced to her knees, she felt the hunters' holds on her tighten - and then one of them shouted from behind her, "Witch!"

Elide, realizing that they weren't talking about her, twisted just far enough to look - and then let out a short, strangled laugh.

Manon Blackbeak, the last Crochan Queen, bearer of the mighty blade Wind-Cleaver, leader of the Thirteen, stalked from the cover of the trees.

There was blood in her teeth, in her hair, splattered on her flying leathers, on her boots...and on her face, there was nothing except an icy, deadly calm.

Most of the hunters left Elide, drawing their blades. One stayed behind to guard her while the rest moved forward to meet the advancing Ironteeth witch. Manon didn't slow her usual storming pace, even as they ran at her.

Elide watched, eyes widening slightly, as blood began to spray. Manon's nails were like an iron whirlwind, cutting and slashing and stabbing at everything within reach. She raked her nails across the neck of one, then shoved the fatally injured hunter to the ground to choke to death in his own blood before instantly turning her attention back to the rest.

Screams filled the air, and Manon was visible to Elide for a moment through the fighting, tearing a man's throat out, then spitting the blood onto the ground as she reached for the vicious sword strapped to her back.

It was then that Elide noticed some of the men running away - falling back before Manon's one-woman army, tearing through them, just as she'd done before. Relentless, deadly, and utterly unstoppable.

After a minute or so, the camp fell still as the last few runners crashed through the trees, and those who decided to stay and fight fell to Manon's blade and nails, limbs and organs ripped open, dead before they even hit the ground. The one who'd stayed by Elide had frozen up, hands trembling, in some sort of shocked state.

The last remaining witch-hunter threw his blade to the ground as Manon turned her head to look at him, her eyes burning like molten gold. "I surrender!" He pleaded, raising his hands. "I give up! I give!"

Manon studied him silently for a few moments, and then her eyes fell on Elide. Immediately, ignoring the last man, she strode over to Elide, plunging Wind-Cleaver into the ground. The man yelped at the sudden movement, jumping back, looking from Manon to his many dead comrades.

"You. Help me untie her and I'll let you live." Manon said over her shoulder to the hunter, who hesitated, until she glared at him and bared her teeth in a snarl that had him hurrying to comply.

The hunter worked on untying the ropes that bound Elide's hands, while Manon gently untied the gag and pulled it from Elide's mouth. Elide slumped, slowly working her jaw to loosen the tight, sore muscles. Now that Manon was close, her gaze flicked to the bruises on Elide's face, staying there for a moment before meeting her eyes. "I'm here," Manon said quietly. "You're safe now."

"Thank you, Manon." Elide rasped, watching her toss the gag aside and then lean forward to inspect the bruises. "I'm alright. They'll heal."

Manon looked back at her, slowly loosing a breath. The hunter finished untying the ropes, and Elide winced as she brought her arms back to their normal position after having them tied behind her back for days. Manon reached out on instinct, inspecting the scrapes caused by the rubbing of the ropes against Elide's wrists.

The hunter stood up and watched, uncertain what he should do. The witch had promised to spare his life if he helped the girl, and he had.

Manon saw him watching, and stood up as well, walking over to stand in front of him. His fear-scent was overwhelming, but Manon nodded to him, seemingly calmer. The hunter, seeing this, relaxed slightly. "I...I didn't think you'd actually spare m-"

Manon grabbed him by the neck, not yet tearing it with her nails. She pulled him close, so that he could see the light glinting on her sharp iron teeth. "I lied," she murmured.

Her nail sliced the muscle in his leg, and he went down instantly, his leg folding under his weight. He screamed, trying to cover the jagged wound and ease the pain, but Manon moved behind him and wrenched his head back up so that he would look Elide in the eyes. Elide pushed herself to her feet. "Do what you want with him." Manon said.

Elide didn't bother replying. She grasped Wind-Cleaver's handle, prying it from the dirt. Her eyes were dark with something unreadable as she stepped toward, and for just a moment, she made eye contact with Manon.

Manon's mouth twitched in a dark grin as she nodded. Elide understood.

There would be no judgement, no matter what she chose to do to this man. Not from Manon, who had likely done far, far worse. Elide marveled at the fact that Manon was literally holding the hunter down for her to do with as she pleased - not only that, but the fact that Manon was allowing her to use her beloved Wind-Cleaver to do it.

She also thought, with a hint of dark humor, that this was probably not the normal idea of romance. Then again, neither Elide or Manon were particularly normal. So Elide lifted Wind-Cleaver.

The hunter's screams didn't stop echoing through the forest for a while.


End file.
